


Yes, I've Been Brokenhearted

by rainy_fangirl



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Girls in Love, Healing, I have little to no respect for Sarah J Maas and the inner circle after acofas, I wrote this out of spite, Multi, Nesta gets the love she deserves, Past Sexual Abuse, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Canon Fix-It, Running Away Together, Self-Reflection, title comes from mamma mia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainy_fangirl/pseuds/rainy_fangirl
Summary: Even centuries later, curled up with her lover, she still bears scars of the people who were supposed to be her family.





	Yes, I've Been Brokenhearted

Nesta still remembers the early days, the  _ year _ she had endured. Even centuries later, curled up with her lover, she still bears scars of the people who were supposed to be her family. Nesta still hurts, even all this time later, the pages of her books yellowed and dusty on the shelf, she remembers the blood. The first few years had felt like nightmares, and while Elain and Feyre had slowly fixed themselves, perked up like wilted daffodils after rain, she hadn’t. They hadn’t taken care of her, hadn’t healed her. Nesta had let herself hope, let her sister tote her off to her pretty little city and pretend everything was okay, pretend that they were a  _ family _ now. 

 

Things didn’t work that way, they never had, and Nesta doesn’t understand what Feyre thought had changed. There were so many things her sisters didn’t know, that she had no intention of sharing. Mor does, and only Mor. Nesta doesn’t tell them about the wandering hands and the few pennies she could scrape up and shove quickly into their food fund. It wasn’t enough for anyone to notice. Nesta isn’t a warrior, and she doesn’t try to be, she doesn’t want to fight. She doesn’t hunt, the only  _ thing _ she’d ever killed was the King of Hybern, and even that still haunts her, Nesta will wake up expecting to be covered in blood but is met only with Mor’s soothing touch, pulling her back to reality. 

 

That year had been worse than anything, worse than her mother’s death, worse than the cottage, worse than the cauldron, worse than the Gods-damned war. Coming home, expected to be  _ whole _ and bubbly like her sisters.  _ So _ , she liked to drink, liked the release it gave her, how after a few strong fae whiskeys she could let her hair down and forget the pointed years, forget how every inch of Velaris reminded her of everything she had never wanted, politics and the pretty crowns, walking the city streets like she owned them. All she had ever needed was enough to get away from it all.  _ So _ , she liked the strangers in her bed, it made her feel less alone in that cauldron damned city, gods, she needed the rest. 

 

Nesta was almost glad when they’d kicked her out. They hadn’t wanted her, fine, she’d known that for a while, Feyre had never cared, not really. They were sending her away, denying her freedom, choice in the matter….it burns and burns through her, running Nesta ragged trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. She finds it ironic, how her sister had quit the other lord and had landed herself in the same situation, a glorified trophy wife who spent her days doing petty charity work and waiting for her husband to come home. The fact that they’re in love this time doesn’t matter, Feyre still puts her husband over herself.

 

Three days, that was all it had taken, three days of sharing a cauldron-damned bed with a male who kept asking her questions she wasn’t prepared to answer, three days of shoving him  _ off _ her, three days of him tugging at her dresses and three days of slapping wandering Illyrian hands away, that she comes for her. Her knight, her goddess. Mor had taken her home, to what Nesta would come to learn was her true safe space. After a few months, the Winter Court becomes both of their real homes. She hadn’t known about Keir, or Eris, or the Court of Nightmares. When she learns of this, Nes cries softly, pulling the other woman to her chest, running her fingertips gently through Mor’s hair and kissing her forehead. Mor knows Nesta, knows her pain first hand in ways Feyre and Cassian can’t mimic.

 

They move slowly, keeping things friendly until Nesta decides and slips her hand into Mor’s on a walk. They kiss, they cuddle, they heal themselves in the sweet domesticity. It’s a subtle love, which they’d both prefer to the Night Court’s distasteful habit of sweeping gestures. Cauldron, how Nesta loves her Morrigan, with such reckless abandon it dizzies her sometimes. Neither of them care about the mating bond, or lack thereof. Such things had always prefered more  _ conventional  _ couples, Mor reassures her late one night, Nesta’s head resting in her lover’s lap. The whole thing only concerned genetics, not the affected’s preferences. Damn Cassian and Eris both to hell, she murmurs, pressing a kiss to Nes’s cheek. They love each other and that’s what matters. 


End file.
